


Brood

by Liara_90



Category: RWBY
Genre: Brother-Sister Relationships, Canon Compliant, Gen, Menstruation, POV Third Person, Pre-Canon, Puberty, Sexism, Teenagers, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 20:34:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14723141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liara_90/pseuds/Liara_90
Summary: brood(bro͞od)n.the young of certain animals, especially a group of young birds hatched at one time and cared for together.v.intr.to focus the attention on a subject persistently and moodily; worry.Before STRQ, before Beacon, Raven Branwen spends the night beyond the protective walls of the camp, banished by a taboo. But Qrow isn’t content to let her brood alone.Contains discussions of menstruation, masturbation, and destiny.





	Brood

**Author's Note:**

> This work can be read as part of the “[A Home of Sticks](https://archiveofourown.org/series/959265)” series, though for thematic and chronological reasons I am not including it there.

* * *

Raven Branwen sat alone, staring out into the darkness beyond the campfire.

They were well into autumn now, though it was still unseasonably warm, and between the fire and a thick blanket Raven was reasonably comfortable. A small stack of logs crackled in the shallow fire pit she’d dug earlier in the day, an overtone accompanying the irregular calls of the forest’s nocturnal birds and beasts. Like anyone born and raised outside the Kingdoms, Raven found the cries of wildlife familiar, even comforting. Without Dust-powered lights, or even the ambient brightness of urban light pollution, it was all but impossible to see what might be looming in the woods, in those trees no more than a few strides from where she sat. It was when the birds and beasts went silent that the hairs on her neck stood on end.

Behind her, a twig snapped.

Raven didn’t stir. “You shouldn’t be out here,” she called out, her gaze still fixed on the flickering flames. She didn’t need to look.

“Yeah, well, neither should you,” muttered Qrow, covering the remaining distance between them. He found a nearby tree stump - the rest of the old maple was now firewood - and dropped onto it, staring at his sister across the flames.

Raven finally shot her brother a glare, but he remained rooted to the stump. He looked thinner than usual in the camp light, the pale glow of the fire accentuating his gaunt features. Puberty had sent Qrow soaring on a hormonal growth spurt, and to Raven his proportions still looked off. His arms and legs now seemed spindly, and his pale skin was marred with acne.

Raven suppressed a wince as pain rolled through her abdominals. Puberty had been a surprise for both of them.

“How ya holding up?” Qrow asked, hunching forward to lean in to the fire. His eyes were serious, and his tone matched, even if his voice was still cracking.

Her answer was a shrug. “This is… worse than last month’s,” she admitted, shifting on the dirt. Raven was leaning back against a log, a hot water bottle resting against her belly. It didn’t anaesthetize the pain - not by a long shot - but it did alleviate a bit of it.

“Damn,” Qrow muttered, swearing out of sympathy. He drew his knees up, resting his arms on them. “That bad?” He knew that Raven wasn’t the kind of person who complained about pain. Admitting to any at all was a pretty big step.

Raven’s fourteenth birthday and her menarche had occurred within a week, the latter but not the former something celebrated by the tribe. There weren’t many girls in the tribe these days, and having one reach childbearing age was still something observed with a small festival of sorts. Without their _grootouders_ around anymore, nobody had really explained to Raven what all the fuss was about. And what she’d pieced together from snippets of overheard conversations hadn’t been enough. Nobody had properly explained to Raven what was going to happen to her, what that mucusy white discharge was heralding.

Nobody had explained that they’d now think of her as _unclean_.

A long ribbon of red cloth hung limply from the top of Raven’s tent, buffeted gently by a cool evening breeze. It had to be hung on her tent, an elder had explained to her, on the nights that she was bleeding. And that on those nights she couldn’t sleep within the wooden walls of the campsite, nor eat their food or touch their tools. If Qrow had been a man, or if their guardians had still been with them, the prescription probably could have been fought, dismissed. But the Branwens had no one to advocate for them, and the edict of seclusion remained.

“See for yourself,” Raven replied. She shuffled a little on the dirt, reaching beneath the blanket. Qrow’s eyes narrowed but his brain was too slow, too slow to recognize the bloody rag being lobbed at his head.

Qrow didn’t cry out but he did gag slightly, suddenly trying to hold the rag by the smallest perch of his fingertips. The cloth - once green - was stained a darkened red, a rank smell filling his nostrils.

“It’s bloodier than normal,” Raven continued, distantly amused by her brother’s expression, as she reached for a replacement cloth.

Qrow waited a moment and then tossed the rag back, where it landed by his sister’s foot. “You know it’s not like there's a cut in you,” he replied, wiping his fingertips on his pants. “It’s, like, originally the lining of your uterine wall.” Raven’s eyebrows raised at that. Though whether she was surprised by the knowledge or just surprised that he knew it Qrow couldn’t tell. “There was a sex ed program on Public Vale,” he explained, slouching further forward. Which he was _pretty_ sure he understood.

Raven shook her head. “You know you’re not supposed to be listening to that,” she chastised.

Qrow shrugged. He’d always been more interested than her in the world outside the tribe. Books were hard to come by - too much weight, not enough utility - so he wasted the hours away talking to those in the tribe who travelled to the great kingdoms, or even better, those who had once lived in them. The adults were generally too busy or too weary to indulge Qrow’s curiosity, seeing little value in filling the boy’s head with fanciful visions. But the tribe _did_ have a radio, and when their campsite was close enough, and the atmospheric conditions clear enough, he could catch the siren song of kingdom life on high-frequency broadcasts.

“And they have special products to absorb all the, uh, mess,” Qrow continued, so eager to share what he’d learned. “So you don’t have to use old rags.”

His sister shrugged. “That’d be nice,” Raven allowed. Qrow hadn’t failed to notice the well-dented pot Raven had brought with her. Sometime between tonight and the end of her seclusion she’d try to sterilize her rags in them, boiling off the bloodstains and bacteria. They had to make do with what they had, after all.

Raven’s last words had been indifferent, but Qrow didn’t want to let up. “Come on, sis, you know this whole seclusion thing is superstitious nonsense. It’s just a dumb tradition.”

Raven nodded. “It is.” And it _was_. When she’d asked, she’d been told it was because of the negative emotions women gave off during _certain times of the month_. Such emotions were a beacon for the Grimm, so she’d need to stay a safe distance away, for the wellbeing of the tribe. Qrow and Raven both knew that that was bullshit, a recent rationalization of a practice that predated the Great War. It was just a patriarchal phobia, a juvenile squeamishness.

Qrow stomped his foot. “So ignore it! You’re already a better hunter than half of them! What are they going to do, banish you?” He leaned forward, as if conveying a conspiracy. “We can _change_ _the tradition_.”

Raven nodded. “We will,” she said, causing Qrow to straighten upright, surprise clear as day on his face. “... _after_ we become the tribe leaders.”

It took Qrow’s brain a second to catch up to his ears, and when it did, he let out an exasperated sigh. “ _Raven…_ ” he began to plead, but her eyes were resolute, her expression granite. Raven was probably the stubbornest person he knew, himself included. He found a pebble in his hands and flicked it into the fire. “I really don’t get how you’ve figured out that you’re gonna rule the tribe but are so fucking convinced things are fine the way they are.”

Raven’s head snapped up mid-sentence. “That _we’re_ going to rule the tribe, Qrow,” she corrected, unwavering conviction in her voice. Her gaze was piercing. “And of course we’re going to. It’s our family, our blood. Birthright, destiny, whatever you want to call it,” she waved a hand, dismissively. “But I can’t do it without you.”

Qrow held her gaze for as long as he could. And then he stared down at the dirt. “I know,” he assured her, softly.

Raven relaxed a little at that, her shoulder slacking. “I agree with you that it’s stupid,” she said, adjusting the water bottle on her belly. “But it’s part of the tribe. Our culture, our traditions.” She sighed, combing her fingers through her hair. “And at the end of the day, that’s the only shit keeping us together.” She plucked a small twig out of her mane, tossing it into the fire. “If I try to start a revolution today, this whole family is going to fall apart.”

Qrow sniffled, wiping his nose with his hand. “Some fucked up family,” he replied, glancing over his shoulder towards the campsite proper. Where there was actual food and shelter and sentries standing watch.

“Yeah,” Raven replied, though her agreement was hollow. She reached over and groped for a small canteen, which she drank deeply from. “I’m surprised you’re out here, you know?” she said, wiping droplets of water from her mouth. Her tone was more upbeat than before, even _conversational_.

“Oh yeah?” Qrow asked.

“Figured you’d be making the most of having our tent all to yourself for the night,” Raven explained, smiling a little. The twins shared a small tent that had once belonged to their grandparents (and before that, a particularly unfortunate mountaineer), housing that was cramped but not uncomfortable.

Qrow’s brow narrowed. “And why’s that?”

Raven shrugged. “Just thought you’d appreciate the alone time,” she explained. Raven didn’t say anything else, but the pumping motion she made with her wrist was unmistakable.

Qrow quickly schooled his expression, but his blush was impossible to conceal. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, trying to inject anger into his tone.

Raven snorted. “You’re not as discreet as you think, little brother,” she teased, needling him with her grin.

“I don’t want to talk about this with you,” Qrow muttered, tucking half his head beneath his knees. Or _anyone_ , if he was being honest.

Raven grinned, serving back the discomfort of things rather left undiscussed. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” she layered on. “Just don’t leave your dirty clothes in our tent, okay?”

Qrow flashed his palms in surrender. “Okay, okay. _Maidens_ ,” he muttered, avoiding Raven’s gaze. He was trying _very_ hard not to think about how many times Raven must have known what he was doing.

They sat in silence for several long minutes, as Raven allowed the fire to dwindle. Qrow finally stood up, wiping dirt from his pants. “I’m going to head in,” he declared, nodding towards the tent Raven was allowed to bring with her, the one flying the cautionary ribbon. “Shout if you see any Grimm.”

Raven nodded. Though Qrow was breaking the taboo by staying with her, nobody would care if he didn’t make a show of it. Nobody would even notice, probably. “I’ll be there in a bit,” she promised. She patted the hot water bottle, which was all the explanation Qrow needed. The cramps were dying down, which was a Maiden’s blessing, but only so long as she kept her back arched slightly against the log.

After a few minutes of staring into the fire, Raven felt something wet by her hips. She was momentarily confused, before realizing that the hot water bottle she’d been using had evidently sprung a leak, the cheap rubber finally giving way. She grimaced at her bad luck, before setting the bottle aside. Maybe it could be patched, still.

Raven and the fire faded as one. Her eyes drifted shut while staring at the tent, from which Qrow’s socked feet were poking out. His heart was in the right place, she knew, even if his mind sometimes wandered to the kingdoms, with their walls and their castles and their promise of a comfortable life. But however tempted he might be, he was her brother, her family, the last of Dinas Branwen.

She passed the night dreaming of what wonderful things she and her brother were going to do for their tribe.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for your readership! Please feel free to leave any comments, thoughts, feedback, or headcanons in the comments. Criticism is the only way I’ll ever get better as a writer. If you’d like to know more about me/my writing, feel free to hit up my[About](http://www.pvoberstein.tumblr.com/about) page. I’m also active on both[reddit](https://www.reddit.com/user/pvoberstein/overview) and[Tumblr](http://www.pvoberstein.tumblr.com/), and can be reached through any of the means on my[Contact](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liara_90/profile) page.
> 
> More serious stuff. This story’s genesis can be traced back to some [reading](https://www.wateraid.org/stories/when-your-period-means-you-have-to-live-in-a-shed) I did on menstrual taboos in Nepal, where in some rural communities women are banished from their homes while menstruating, considered unclean, often at serious risk to their health. (The stigma, I hasten to add, is hardly uniquely Nepalese.) And while I like to consider myself someone who doesn’t shy away from writing anything - be it graphic violence or graphic sex - I’ve never written anything acknowledging the existence of something as mundane as periods. Kind of a glaring oversight, really.
> 
> With regards to Raven’s characterization here, my interpretation of her is that, at the end of the day, she is something of a traditionalist. She’s _old school_. Unlike Qrow, who ultimately remained in Vale, we know that Raven left Ozpin’s world to return to her tribe. Throughout all of Volume 5 the tribe is pretty much the only thing that seems to command Raven’s genuine loyalty. She certainly doesn’t seem to be a revolutionary reformer, a transformative leader. Hence why I wrote Raven herein with a bit more deference to the rules than I’ve done in [other](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14476155) [works](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13975296). (Also, y’know, a teenager without any good options.) Hopefully that characterization worked for you readers.


End file.
